


Hunting, shooting… and revolution

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Disguise, Gen, Original Character(s), Revolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-14 21:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14777211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: Nazi-sympathisers among the British aristocracy call in Colonel Nexor, who has apparently survived the explosion after the Gurnius Affair.Now read on...





	1. Nexor's arrival

The butler, dragged from his tête-à-tête with the housekeeper, was cool until he heard who the visitors were. “I’m afraid his Lordship is still out hunting with his other house guests, gentlemen. Please come in.”

“I’m afraid we _are_ a little early,” said the American. His companion stood haughtily surveying his surroundings but said nothing.

“His Lordship should return within an hour or so, sir. I’ll show you to your rooms – one of the footmen will bring your bags – and then, I think his Lordship would be glad if you were to wait in his drawing room.” The butler unbent sufficiently to offer to bring tea there.

English great houses being rarely heated, their allotted rooms were large and cold – and their windows were open. Waverly had warned them that servants would unpack their bags for them, so they had put nothing into them that would give them away. The butler then led them to warmer quarters in the Earl’s private apartments, to what he called the Green Drawing Room though it was oddly deficient in that colour as these rooms often are. “There’s some green in the carpet,” Illya remarked, “but not much. Shall we start looking here?”

“Wait till Jeeves, or whatever he’s called, brings tea.”

That gentleman (whose name was actually Elmstone) was quick to bring tea and a plate of home-made biscuits, as he called them, and equally quick to leave them alone in order to return to his own cosier conversation.

“What on earth is this? Boiled bonfire?” said Napoleon, sniffing it and taking a cautious sip.

“Lapsang Souchong,” said Illya. “The leaves are smoke-dried over pinewood.”

“An acquired taste.” Napoleon put his cup down. “Let’s make a start before he comes back. Mr Waverly thought it would be hidden in plain sight.”

“Easy for him to say – look at what plain sight has to offer,” said Illya, who had already drunk his tea and eaten two cookies. The room was full of knick-knacks; there were photographs on every surface; and this was only one of a large number of rooms in which a code might be hidden. “It’s more likely to be in his study or the library.”

“We’ll try here first.”

They wandered round the room looking at and under everything. Napoleon picked up a photograph, apparently of the Countess, which had slipped in its frame. On impulse, he took the back off and, there, under the photograph was one of Adolph Hitler – signed.

“So, Waverly was right,” he commented, passing it to Illya. “One of the Nazi sympathisers among the British aristocracy.”

“The election of a Labour government must have been the spur to this. Thrush must be muscling in on disaffection – that may be what the code is for.” Illya stared in disgust at the photograph and turned it over. His eyes widened, “Ah!”

Someone had written the place and date of the photograph, and below it someone else had written a sequence of letters and numbers. “The code, I think,” said Napoleon, smiling at his partner. He replaced the photograph, carefully leaving the Countess askew as before.

They relayed the code to Waverly and now all that remained was for Illya to convince the Earl of his identity and learn the plans for insurrection.

oo000oo

The flushed, muddy and tired huntsmen and women returned from the chase as it grew dark and all disappeared to bath and change for dinner. Napoleon and Illya were waiting in the big saloon when the Countess entered, a tall, handsome woman of about forty, with dark analytical eyes that saw much.

“I’m so sorry, gentlemen, keeping you waiting like this. Mr Singleton, I don’t think we’ve met. How do you do? I hope Elmstone has made you comfortable?”

“Countess! Enchanté. Please don’t apologise,” said Napoleon, “we arrived earlier than we anticipated.”

“Colonel Nexor, how like your father you are! I’m so delighted you could come – I know my husband has been looking forward to this moment.” Illya bowed. The Countess continued, “My daughter, too. She has had your photograph by her bed these many days.”

At this, Illya almost failed to keep his cold demeanour. He blinked, half-smiled, frowned and then bowed again. “I look forward to meeting your husband _and_ your daughter,” he said, aware that Napoleon was giving him one of _those_ looks.

oo000oo

At dinner, Illya was placed next to the Lady Clarissa, the Earl’s daughter, which tried his fortitude more than a little. She was very hearty, very healthy – almost plump – and, sport-mad, had never read a book. Intolerable. Napoleon, of course, was hugely amused as well as relieved. He was placed next to the Countess and it was obvious that she too was over-interested in his partner. She turned to him at one point and said, “We all thought Colonel Nexor had been killed in that explosion. How did he survive, do you know?”

“He has the nine lives of a cat,” said Napoleon. “He’s been very lucky all his life.”

“Can he help my husband with his plans, do you think?”

“Sure, Countess. That’s why he’s here. He didn’t need much persuading, I can assure you.”

When the ladies withdrew, the gentlemen moved up the table to sit together to smoke and drink port. The Earl waited until someone was well into a shaggy-dog story and then leaned towards Illya and said, “I have a proposition for you, Colonel. Come with me.” It was a command.

Napoleon watched them leave the room, feeling a familiar shuddering frisson at Illya’s ability to inhabit this role so easily. His stiff gait, his cold unsmiling manner and air of menace had made more than one guest shiver on meeting him.

When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the Pink Drawing Room – whose main colour appeared to be green – Lady Clarissa bounced up to Napoleon, deeply disappointed by Colonel Nexor’s failure to appear.

“Your father wanted to talk to him,” he said soothingly.

“Oh, pa’s going to bore him to death with his revolution. I thought it was going to be fun, but it isn’t.”

“Oh?” said Napoleon.

ooo0000ooo


	2. A test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nexor's identity is questioned

The Earl sat facing his guest – an even more menacing individual than he had been warned to expect. Colonel Nexor was like a coiled spring, apparently quite still in his chair but so highly-strung, the tension in his body was quite alarming … poor fellow, he was doomed to an early heart attack if he didn’t learn to relax. The Earl made no comment, of course – he was almost palpably restrained. Illya, maintaining the role, frowned and said, “You have brought me here to see your plans, yes?”

The Earl sat up in his chair, “Yes, Colonel, but first – if you will forgive the discourtesy – I need to satisfy myself about your identity.”

Illya’s frown deepened. He was indignant. “My Lord?”

“We heard you had died in a disaster in South America. My contacts, of course, found you alive and well – I trust – in Argentina. Perhaps you could tell me how you made your escape and how you made yourself known to them.”

“Very simple, my Lord. I was thrown clear by the explosion, severely injured, of course, but I am used to pain, it wasn’t so hard to make my way to a safe house.” He paused and cast his eyes down deprecatingly. “When I recovered, I allowed the fact to be made known among … friends. Then your contacts came to find me.”

“Where is that safe house?”

The Colonel looked up again and the blue eyes seemed to bore into the Earl’s. “I am not at liberty to say.”

This was just the kind of unhelpful answer that might follow a falsehood. It was the Earl’s turn to frown. “Who is your companion?”

“Norbert? He has useful contacts in the USA.”

“We don’t know him.”

“Of course not. He keeps a low profile for obvious reasons.”

The Earl, for all his genetic deficiencies, was no fool and he remained to be convinced. He smiled, stroked the fine polish on his desk, and said suddenly, “You must have scars from your injuries – may I see them?”

Illya jumped to his feet in a passion of indignation. “Is this to insult me?” he said angrily.

“Not at all, my dear fellow. Isn’t it what you yourself would ask in the same circumstances?”

Illya sat down again and relaxed. “Of course. You are quite right, my Lord. It is as well to be certain. You wish me to take my shirt off?”

“If you would be so kind.” The Earl watched as the Colonel stripped and his slim muscular torso was gradually revealed. There were certainly scars. As the young man turned in front of him, he saw manifold signs of violence. If this odd chap weren’t destined for death from early heart attack or apoplexy, he looked as if he would almost certainly succumb to some other kind of early demise quite soon.

“Thank you, Colonel. I apologise for doubting you.”

Illya bowed, dressed again, executed another little bow and clicked his heels. The Earl went over to a sideboard and turning, said, “Can I offer you a Cognac, or would you prefer Scotch?”

“Cognac would be acceptable. Thank you.”

The Colonel seemed to mellow under the influence of a very fine Napoleon brandy and smiled engagingly at the Earl. The smile was almost as alarming as the frown. “Now, my Lord. To business?” he said.


	3. Plans for revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon hears about the plan. Illya is in a different kind of danger

Napoleon’s intriguing conversation with Clarissa had been interrupted quite quickly. He was almost the only man in the room – most of the others having gone to play billiards. He had now acquired a circle of women, to whom he was telling tall tales. Lady Clarissa was all agog, believing very word. Her mother watched Napoleon closely and believed very little. He appeared to be enjoying himself and when he looked up and caught her eye, he winked as if to say – you and I know how absurd this is, which made her smile, and almost reassured her.

“Clarissa, dear, why don’t you play the piano for us?”

“Oh mother! I haven’t practised for ages.”

“Oh, please,” said Napoleon, “I’d just adore to hear you play.”

Clarissa beamed, “Would you really? Oh gosh. Shall I do the Moonlight Sonata?”

It was appalling. She raced through the easy bits and stumbled badly over the more difficult passages. The feminine circle broke up and drifted away into further corners of the drawing room apparently to discuss millinery and the servant problem. Napoleon kept a smile on his face until the Countess came to sit beside him and said, “You don’t need to be polite. She won’t notice. Now, Mr Singleton, tell me about yourself – the truth, mind, not that nonsense you were thrilling my guests with earlier.”

“Aw, Countess, you’re too quick for me.”

“I don’t think so, Mr Singleton. You seem to be a very good actor.”

“Need to be in my business.”

“And what is that? do tell me.”

“Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that, you know.”

“And managing a very private agency. So private, it’s difficult to find?”

Napoleon glanced around. Clarissa had abandoned the Moonlight sonata and moved on to Für Elise which she was playing much too fast and with neither style nor sympathy, so they remained alone. He wondered if Illya were undergoing a similarly polite interrogation. These aristocrats were more acute than they’d been led to expect. The act they were putting on was going to have to be very good indeed to withstand the scrutiny.

“Unless you’re looking for it, Countess,“ he said, answering her question.

“Are you in communication with any other such … private agencies?” said the Countess.

Napoleon took a risk and said, “Like one named after a bird, maybe?”

“I see we understand one another,” she said.

“Isn’t that why the Colonel and I were invited?” He said daringly and she laughed.

“One reason,” she said and then bent forward to ask more quietly, “Tell me about Colonel Nexor. It’s like meeting his father all over again, but he has something different about him – something of the night.”

Wait till I tell Illya _that_ , he thought, but said aloud, “Well, he’s had a difficult life, I guess. It would have an effect on anyone. He’s one tough cookie. So –  you knew his father?”

“My husband met him before the war at Berchtesgaden, when he was invited to stay with the Führer. I was there too. We all became friends. I married my husband there.”

“Ah, I thought I detected an accent in your voice, Countess.”

“Very perceptive, Mr Singleton. Yes, I am German.”

She told him about their escape from Germany at the outbreak of war and their sorrow at how it turned out for the Führer, the noble Wolf.

“After the war, that dreadful Labour government came to power. The taxes they imposed! It was crippling. We had plans even then to use Max… that is, Nexor’s help, but of course that government was seen off before our plans came to fruition.”

“You seem to be doing quite well, in spite of the taxes,” Napoleon suggested.

“It’s outrageous, these people who are happy to be prodigal with other people’s wealth and spend it on _Untermensch._ You know how it is, there are ways to keep hard-earned money out of the hands of politicians.”

No-one likes paying taxes, but Napoleon was somewhat repelled by this and quite glad Illya wasn’t listening. His communist soul might have risen up and overflowed.

“And now, of course, we have… I think you might call it sponsorship.”

“Ah, our feathered friends?”

She smiled agreement then he asked more about Nexor senior.

“So sad that he died when he did. He was such a handsome man – the Colonel is his image, so I don’t need to tell you.” Napoleon inclined his head in agreement but kept his opinion to himself. “I’m very much younger than my husband, so Maximilian and I … but nothing happened, of course,” she said quickly. “My daughter is a little star-struck by his son – perhaps something might be arranged when all this is over.”

Illya’s going to faint when he hears about that, thought Napoleon. “All this?”

“The overthrow of the government, the takeover by our people. The Socialists have won two elections in two years, with tiny majorities – it’s time to act.”

“And you want Nexor and me to help?”

“One plan is to form militia groups all over the country and ultimately to win the army over to our side. I hope Colonel Nexor will advise on the more unusual types of training.”

“One plan, you say. Is there more?”

“Ah yes. The assassination of the Prime Minister and his cabinet.”

The Countess spoke calmly but her eyes had become hot and Napoleon barely stopped himself from recoiling. “That’s quite a plan,” he said. “It will cause an almighty row, of course. How will you handle the Queen, for instance?” he asked mildly.

“She’s German, the whole family is German. She’s bound to be pleased to get rid of that tiresome little Yorkshireman and have a strong government installed.”

“Oh, I see… I guess you’re right… but I thought she was half Scottish. And isn’t her husband Greek?”

“He was only born there; he’s a mixture of all the European royal families – Danish, Russian, and German, of course. The Scottish side doesn’t really count for much.”

Napoleon didn’t know much about the Queen but he had an idea that she liked Scotland and got on quite well with the present prime minister. It was he who had called them in.


	4. Illya the actor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new danger arises

“Assassination is no problem. Security is very lax in this country,” said the Colonel dismissively. “However, I know from experience that there is sometimes resistance to the more… shall we say… _tactile_ forms of coercion that might have to be employed on others afterwards.”

“You may be right, Colonel. What are your preferred coercive methods?” asked the Earl.

“There are so many, I have no favourites.”

“I shall be an interested observer, Colonel. Now, before my wife comes in search of us, I suggest we rejoin the house party. I hope we shall be able to plan our campaign in detail over the next few days.”

The Colonel’s feral smile appeared again.

oo000oo

Napoleon had never had doubts about Illya’s ability to carry off the impersonation, but when he and the Earl entered the drawing room it was nevertheless a relief to see that he had apparently been accepted. The assault on Beethoven ceased immediately and Clarissa leapt up from the piano, all excited girlish enthusiasm. Napoleon wondered where she had acquired it. Her parents were all subtlety – smilers with the knife under the cloak, in fact – not at all given to public displays of emotion. Then he looked at the Countess and saw that she was looking at Illya with a strange expression. She was a handsome woman, but the predatory way she ran her eyes over Illya’s person made Napoleon shiver. He was for once thankful that she hadn’t turned them his way and hoped their rooms had locks.

She approached Illya and, without even trying, detached him from her daughter and led him to a sofa and engaged him in conversation. Clarissa returned to Napoleon and both watched the other conversation while maintaining a stilted colloquy of their own. The Earl watched them all and relaxed, observing that the Colonel was _not_ like his father in all respects. All heads turned, however, hearing a disturbance from the gallery beyond the doors and all looked round and stood up as a young man entered the room.

“Ah, late as usual,” said the Earl fondly. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think most of you know my son. Wolf, let me introduce you to our special guests.”

The young man bowed to the room as his father took him to meet Colonel Nexor and his friend. Neither man betrayed the sudden alarm they felt. This was a face _they_ knew. It was more than likely that he knew theirs. The introductions performed, the young man moved away to talk to old friends among the company and the Countess and Clarissa each reclaimed their prey.

oo000oo

Later, Napoleon and Illya retired to Napoleon’s room to talk over the evening’s revelations. Speaking in natural tones and maintaining their assumed characters, they made a very careful check of the room first and found the listening devices they had expected. Leaving them where they were, they dropped clothing over them apparently carelessly and continued a discussion about the Earl’s plan – in a perfectly normal way. Moving away, they lowered their voices a little and Napoleon told Illya what the Countess had said and more important, what she hadn’t. He warned him to lock his door – which Illya had every intention of doing. As for the Earl’s son, whom they knew better by his name rather than his title, they wondered when the penny would drop. The young man was a rising star in Thrush. He must know them from photographs.

oo000oo

They met again at breakfast in the morning room. It faced east optimistically, but the day was overcast and wet. Napoleon found Illya eating his way through a large cooked breakfast and reading the Times. Several wives had opted for breakfast in bed, which was annoying the denizens of the kitchen, but there were several other male guests at the table silently eating such horrors as porridge and kippers, or bacon, black pudding and fried eggs. The sideboard was presided over by Mr Elmstone. Napoleon smiled at him and received a cool inclination of the head in return. He examined the various containers and having chosen, he sniffed the coffee – Mr Elmstone found this a little challenging and almost rolled his eyes. The coffee appeared to offer unusually good possibilities. Must be the effect of having a German lady of the house. No Brit could do coffee in his opinion.

He carried his various choices to the table and sat down beside his partner, who looked up and grunted.

“Sleep well?” Napoleon inquired.

“Perfectly, thank you.” The Colonel would not have asked about Norbert Singleton’s rest, and Illya didn’t. He continued to ignore him while doing the Times crossword in his head and absent-mindedly drinking cold tea.

Napoleon was on his third cup of the excellent coffee when the Earl entered. Like others he was dressed for riding – they would be going hunting again later. The Earl greeted the room generally and went to the sideboard. He then looked around and seeing his two non-hunting guests, bent over Illya who had finished the crossword and was about to rise and said, “Perhaps you would care to join me in my study after breakfast, to discuss certain matters of importance.”

“Of course, my Lord. And Mr Singleton, too?”

“Not immediately, just yourself, Colonel. In, say, half an hour?”

Illya nodded, glanced at Napoleon, half-smiled, half-bowed and left the room. You couldn’t fault him when he inhabited a character, thought Napoleon. It was extraordinary how he could pick it up and then drop it seamlessly when the need for it ceased. He was conscious that his own acting was on the hammy side by comparison. Maybe he was more comfortable in his own skin whereas Illya, almost completely impossible to know, was seemingly comfortable in anyone else’s skin but his own. Finishing his coffee, he got up and left the room with a wave directed at everyone, and by everyone ignored. Passing through the entrance hall, he saw Illya standing outside on the top step looking at the view.

He lit a cigarette, a plausible reason for leaving the house, and went out to join him. “The rain has stopped I think,” he said and together they went down the steps and out towards but not into the formal garden whose topiary almost certainly concealed microphones. They stood looking around at the view.

“Has his son recognised us yet? How far can we go with this?” Napoleon muttered.

“Not long, I think. You’d better come up with a plan to get away.” Illya spoke quietly but maintained, for the benefit of anyone who might be watching, a stiff unyielding demeanour. “I’m going back. See you later, I hope,” and he stalked away.

Not quite sure what one was supposed to do with a cigarette butt out on the raked gravel, Napoleon brought it back in with him as the rain began again and dropped it into a plate on a hall stand. It was found later by a horrified footman, who quickly removed it and cleaned the rather fine piece of Ming porcelain with his own handkerchief.

Napoleon returned to his room where he prepared for a quick exit and went to Illya’s room to collect some of his belongings which he distributed about his person. He then went to stand concealed behind a curtain in a window embrasure near the Earl’s study to await events.


	5. A challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya is tested again...

Illya meanwhile met his host as he made his way to his study. “My son naturally wishes to join our discussion,” said the Earl. “He is very like his mother – my first wife,” he added. “A little headstrong and very short-tempered – I say that not to excuse him, but to warn you that while he defers a little to me, he may not to you.”

The Colonel raised his eyebrows a little but said nothing. The Viscount was waiting in the study. He rose when they entered and shook hands, looking closely at the Colonel’s face, and in particular at his scar.

“Your likeness to another man is remarkable,” he said. “You may have been told so before.”

“A certain UNCLE agent, I have been told,” said the Colonel coolly.

“One of UNCLE’s _so-called_ best agents, partnered with Napoleon Solo, I believe. They are very careless individuals but very lucky, it seems. They have evaded and escaped capture hitherto.”

“Your people must also be careless, it seems – or just _un_ lucky,” said the Colonel sardonically.

“Not for very much longer… Colonel.” The Viscount produced a pistol. “Sit down, Mr Kuryakin.”

Illya remained standing. “How dare you!” he said furiously and turned to the Earl. “My Lord, this Kuryakin fellow is nothing to do with me. I am Maximilian Nexor. Tell your son to sit down and listen to his betters while we discuss the plans.”

“We know everything. Your friend, Norbert Singleton is, of course, Napoleon Solo,” said the Viscount.

“That is nonsense. Napoleon Solo is dead. Mr Singleton is merely an acquaintance – almost certainly a friend of Thrush. It was he who came looking for me.” Illya glared at the Viscount.

“We’ve never heard of him. Solo escaped with you and that girl – yes, we know everything. You and he are responsible for the loss of a major research project and also for the deaths of Marshall Gurnius and Von Etske – _and_ , I believe, Colonel Nexor.”

“Ridiculous!” Illya snapped. “I feel their loss extremely, and the destruction of the mind-altering machine is a disaster. Your fool of a Thrush agent was responsible.” He frowned horribly, and added, “and I am still alive.”

“Wolf …Colonel. Let us remain calm,” said the Earl. “Now, Colonel, if what my son says is true, this alters everything.”

“It is _not_ true,” Illya interjected, slapping the desk.

“But this Norbert Singleton, or Napoleon Solo – you must admit the clever alteration of the name – he is clearly our problem. What do you suggest we do about him?”

“Napoleon Solo is dead,” Illya reiterated. “He died under my hands – he had already undergone torture and I finished him off.”

“He has been seen since that time – entering UNCLE headquarters,” said the Viscount.

“Nonsense. Somebody else. All Americans look alike,” Illya snarled.

The Earl smiled. This was either the real Colonel Nexor or an UNCLE agent with uncanny acting ability.

“Very well. We will talk to him later. For the moment, we must accept your story. Please sit down, Colonel – and you too,” he added to his son.

Illya sniffed, sent a poisoned glance at the Thrush man and sat down.

“Now, I wish to hear your plans for the assassination.”

“I have written some notes. Here,” Illya drew some sheets of paper from his pocket and handed them over. The Earl looked them over and passed them to his son.

“Very clever, Colonel. A rocket fired into the cabinet room in Number 10 from outside the Ministry of Defence is both bold, imaginative and beautifully insulting.”

“What about the trajectory?” said the Viscount.

“Simple mathematics. A child could work it out,” said the Colonel contemptuously. “I will leave it with you – I have work to do on the other plans.” He stood up, clicked his heels and walked out, his sudden exit surprising the two other men so much that they allowed him to go.

As he walked past the window embrasure, Napoleon stepped out. “We need to get away,” said Illya quietly. “I’m not sure that they accept me, but they definitely suspect you.”

They were walking quickly down the stairs together when the Viscount emerged from the study and shouted over the balcony, “Elmstone! Arrest them – lock them up!”

And there below them was the butler, armed and pointing his weapon at them. “Please come on down, gentlemen,” he said politely.

He took them down the back stairs to the basement and locked them in a small closet with a tiny window. As a nobleman’s butler, however, and not a Thrush agent, it didn’t occur to him to search them and as soon as he had gone Napoleon emptied his pockets for Illya to choose the best means of opening the door again.

Illya waited for silence in the corridor outside before blowing the lock, then they ran the length of the corridor to the garden door. There were already sounds of dismay as they dashed out into the rain. “Which way’s the garage?” said Napoleon.

“It’s the other side, along the road that leads away from the house – they’ll look there first. Let’s get away and circle back after they’ve hunted for us there.”

“They may well set the hunt on us,” said Napoleon. “They’re all dressed for it – can’t you hear the dogs?”

Illya paled. “Yes. Run!”


	6. The hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya and Napoleon in hiding receive help from an unexpected quarter

It was cold. Mist hung low over the valley and rain droplets hung on every twig and blade of grass; it clung to their hair, their faces and their clothes. Napoleon, crouching under a dripping canopy of brambles beside a ditch was miserable. His slightly more stoical partner had crawled out of this temporary comfort and was now making his way along the water-filled ditch to spy out the land.

Napoleon was wet to the skin in places without benefit of ditch water. November might be a fun time for those who actively enjoyed stalking game, but it was no fun at all if your preferred activity was sitting in the sun with a cocktail.

There was a squelching beside him as Illya heaved himself out of the water. “The hunt is approaching,” he said, and now Napoleon could hear the baying of the hounds coming closer and could even feel the thudding of hoofbeats.

“Oh, shit,” said Napoleon unequivocally. A rank odour materialised nearby. “Phew, what’s that smell?”

“They seem to have started a fox,” said Illya, “and it’s coming this way. That’s handy…” and as he spoke, a small red animal burst through the hedge and fled across the field.

 “We may have to duck right down into the water if the dogs come through the hedge,” Illya whispered. “I suggest we move along the ditch towards the house. The water ought to disguise our scent.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, we can hope.” Illya slipped back into the ditch and, with more than reluctance, Napoleon followed him, gasping a little as the cold, muddy water began to penetrate his clothing.

The dogs began to pour round and through the hedge so they ducked down flat in the water. Finding themselves on the edge of the ditch most of the hounds jumped across, others floundered into it and trampled across the backs of the two men. One stopped to sniff but was more tempted by the smell of fox than to bother with what it had found.

Now they could hear the hoofbeats and they ducked down again as the horses sailed over the hedge, thundered down into the field and galloped in the same direction as the fox, following the hounds. They raised their heads to watch and when certain the hunt had gone, they surfaced again and looked around carefully before dragging themselves out.

“We could run – try and get warm that way.”

“I’ll never be warm again.”

They squeezed through the hedge and, bent double, ran along it in the direction of the back lane that led to the stables and the garage. There was no-one about – everyone had been ordered to follow the hunt.

The car was there, to their surprise. Napoleon produced the keys and was about to get in, when Illya stopped him. “They won’t have failed to boobytrap it, surely?” he said. But evidently no-one had been told to do anything so ungentlemanly and after a careful search, they were able to get in and simply drive away.

It did occur to them to wonder what the car-hire would say when they brought it back – their filthy, wet, stinking garments were soaking the upholstery.

“Mr Waverly won’t like the bill for our clothes, either,” said Illya.

“Nonsense. Worth it for the information this time,” said Napoleon confidently and sneezed.

ooo0000ooo

**Author's Note:**

> LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: window, chase, green
> 
> “Smiler with the knife under the cloak” – a quotation from the Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer (c1340-1400): The Knight’s Tale.
> 
> In English country houses, guests are not necessarily required to be down for breakfast, a meal that, traditionally, is not served to guests at the table. It is laid out for them to choose from – a practice that hotels copy. Black pudding is a sausage made of pigs’ blood.
> 
> Earl is the English equivalent of count, so his wife is a countess; a son often holds a subsidiary title of viscount. An earl’s daughter’s first name is preceded by the title Lady.


End file.
